Waking Up Sucks (Sometimes)

Forty-three.

Luminous blinding rays failed to bask its warmth on the four cornered room.

Oak wood and scent of morning dew starts to linger.

In normal days, he found comfort in this.

But.

Not until today.

Restraining to swallow the irksome lump on his throat, heeding to the person who's adamantly holding his hand, refraining to elicit a groan, he's sure that he can surpass the oscar nominees, reluctantly opening his eyes, making him accustomed with the odd smell of medicine.

He's..

He's regretting it.

His eyes narrow down to the object that exhibits the pace of his heartbeat.

Ah.

I'm still alive.

Chuckling inwardly, afraid to disturb the other, he eyes decided to wander around.

He hates it.

He hated being here.

Trailing his gaze down on his newly treated pulse, a question popped on his head.

'Do I really deserve this life?'

Everyone knew that we're given loads of obstruction. The depth of the puddles you want to entrench.

And it's up to you how will you transcend these tiresome hindrance.

But..

How can he muster up the courage to live..

If the world already abandoned him?

You can't blame him.

If most of the time, he just wanted to take a rest.

Permanently.

He had nothing to lose.

Cause, first of all.

He already did lose himself.